There's an odd feeling that sometimes sets in whenever I have to leave a city. I love a big city, and during visits, there's a rush of adrenalin whenever I get a chance to plug into the energy of the it, and get a taste of its many flavours. It's invigorating to be in a place so huge that the fact I am in it means very little. I am one tiny extra part of the furniture, which means I can wander wherever I fancy, observing what I like, as life happens around me. Which is how I like it.
In a similar manner, last night I got the chance to go and see 'The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable', staged by Punchdrunk. If any of you are familiar with Punchdrunk, then you will know that their productions are "immersive", and that in order to stage them, they occupy whole buildings, and completely convert them into elaborate, exquisitely detailed sets. If you aren't familiar with Punchdrunk, then I rather think you should be. I will try to be as vague as possible from this point onwards, because I want you to go and see/explore the damned thing, and so spilling all the beans is not going to help anyone, especially them. Or you, come to think of it.
It all takes place within the walls of 31 London Street, Paddington, opposite the train station. Three floors plus a basement comprise the offices & film sets of 'Temple Studios', a saloon and a trailer park, and seemingly a wasteland (wear comfortable, and preferably sandproof, shoes). You are taken into the building, given a mask, which must be worn at all times, and from the moment you enter, you must not speak. At all. What follows is a series of stories linked by the underlying darkness of 'The Hollywood Dream', accompanied by ambient sounds and clever, at times unsettling, musical scores - the use of sound is very atmospheric.
Scenes happen across all floors, at once, on a loop. While this is an intrinsic feature of the performance, it also means that if you don't see a scene when it is first performed, there's a chance you'll see it later (you are there, after all, for around three hours). It is also possible to happen upon a scene and then later on, see the story leading up to what you saw in the first place.
You are guided by nobody but yourself. There is no right or wrong way to take in the production (unless you are a) pissed, b) determined to try and hijack the proceedings by heckling/dicking about, or c) wandering around with your bastard phone on, taking photographs) - if you find a character that intrigues you, you can follow their course around the building until they get to the end of their 'loop' (from which they return to the beginning of their story), or you can find a room you like, camp out in it and see what occurs.
My tack was to explore the building. This way, I hoped, I would get to take in as much detail of the production as possible. (Seriously, the sets are stunning, I wanted to see as much as I could of the many rooms on offer.) Also, I would happen upon scenes in an unforced, more natural manner, almost by accident. Sometimes I would see an interesting scene, and would follow that trail, either until it seemingly reached an end, or until my curiosity waned. (I saw the stories of several characters in this manner - a couple of full stories, where for others I caught only snatches.) On several occasions I would be exploring a space when a performer would enter, accompanied by a phalanx of masked observers, while a further crowd of blank, grey faces accumulated in nearby windows - in one case, while snow fell from above.
This, for me, is a fascinating part of Punchdrunk. The mask's design adds a silent, eerie presence to the scenes, as if the play is also about the phantoms that haunt the world into which you've been flung - the crowd of masked onlookers almost appear to be some sort of benign Doctor Who creature that no one else can see, and then you remember that you're one of them! You are a part of the performance.
As a result of this revelation, and of the feeling one acquires from wearing a mask that renders one anonymous, I found myself moving slowly and deliberately around the building, and in scenes that took place in smaller spaces, I acted back at the performers. Additional scenes take place in the form of 'one-on-ones', where an actor may take you by the hand and directly involve you in part of the performance. (These are entirely voluntary, but I recommend going with it.) I was invited by one of the actors into one such scene, which was a fascinating, intimate moment, and one where - almost in a trance - my focus was precisely where it needed to be, making it almost filmic. I was spellbound for several minutes, and it took some shaking off.
It is impossible that you will see everything on one visit. You won't see the story, but you will see a story. What you make of it is entirely down to you. I feel I saw a broad spectrum during my exploration, and I'm sure there are things I saw hints of that I would have loved to explore further. What you will see will be impressive, with some amazing choreography (the dance in the trees is spectacular), and as I have previously said, the level of detail in the piece is frankly astonishing. You would be hard-pressed not to find yourself totally immersed in the world that has been created.
It was invigorating to be in a place so huge, yet the fact I was in it meant a lot. I was an extra part of the furniture, which meant I could wander wherever I fancied, observing what I liked, as life happened around me. Which is how I like it.
